“Listen, Molly. I’ve got the sweetest forget-me-not blue dance frock you’ve ever dreamed about,” she cried impressively. “It’s just the latest thing, made by a swell New York house. I’ve—never even worn it. I got shoes to match, and lovely, lovely silk stockings that’ll set all the other women crazy with envy. My, you’ll just look sweet in it. And then I’ve a beautiful fur-lined wrap. You can wear that on your journey, under a coat. Now, when’s the dance?”
“Why soon—very soon. When seeding’s through. But——”
Blanche was in no mood to listen to any protest. She had come to see Molly because Jim had asked her. The thing she had in mind now was out of her own impulsive liking for the girl herself.
“It’s useless, my dear,” she laughed. “My mind’s quite made up. You’re going to the dance in that frock, if I have to come and dress you myself.”
The light in Molly’s eyes was ecstatic.
“But—but if I muss it?” she cried, in sudden alarm.
“Muss it? Why, you dear, simple child, that’s right up to you. It’s a—a present, silk stockings, and shoes, and wrap, and all—with my best love.”
Lightning and Molly were standing together down by the barn. The door stood wide open. Blanche had just ridden off on her Pedro. The old man was observing the creature’s gait with all the admiration of a real horseman. The rider interested him far less.
Molly, too, was gazing after the departing visitor. But the horse held none of her interest. She was thinking of Blanche. She was contemplating again those smiling eyes. And a great joy was surging in her heart. The whole thing seemed to her like some fairy-story, or some happy dream from which she would surely wake up.